Too Long
by PyroYoukai
Summary: Too many years had gone by ever since he last felt the true warmth the most festive month of the year had to offer. MileyOliver [LOOOONG hiatus]
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: **

This story is my first fanfiction ever so bear with my amateur-ness. Go easy on me if you review please. But, I must admit, I am not in this alone. Fenroar Greyfront helped me with the basis for this fic, so some credit goes to her.

Be forewarned that this fic is rated for sexual content the later chapters, so, heed that warning right there. That thing I just said about the sex – yeah, it's true, so no flames once we get there. There's also just a little OOC-ness going on, but not a whole lot. Other than that, I have nothing else to say, so, here it is.

**Disclaimer:** Nothing from Hannah Montana belongs to me, but god I wish I owned Miley Cyrus.

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_**Too Long **_

_**December 4, 2019 **_

Oliver shivered as the burning sensation slithered down his throat. He gulped, and grunted, beginning to feel slightly lightheaded. Smiling, he took in his surroundings. There were young couples, men smoking and playing billiards. The dim light provided a mellow feel, though the classic rock music emitting from the stereo quirked the atmosphere. He sniffed, and cleared his throat, blinking once, as he took down another shot of alcohol. Behind him, people entered and left the bar, stepping out into the cool winter night.

Sighing, he made a motion to the bartender to give him another shot, and he obliged with a shake of his head. Being tipsy, Oliver did not notice much around him, other than the fact that he felt happy. Of course, if he'd really been happy, he wouldn't have been sitting in a bar downing alcohol during a beautiful winter's night. He had the choice to be at home, curling up next to someone he loved by the fireside, watching a movie and downing hot cocoa instead of vodka. But, he'd chosen the latter, because he had nowhere to go.

"Kid, what are you doing here?" the tall, but rather plump, bartender asked, scratching his neck.

Oliver let out a small laugh.

"I'm no kid," he replied with a snort, as he sipped on another shot glass, no longer downing them. The sensation burned his mouth and his throat, but he kept on.

"Don't you work at the hospital down the street? You're a medical student, ain't ya?" the man asked, now scratching his chin.

Watching the man scratch his face made Oliver itchy. In turn, he began to scratch his head, somewhat missing the feel of the thick curtain of hair he had when he was a teenager.

"Yep. I'm a resident," he let out. If it had been another time, he wouldn't have said a thing to a stranger, but he'd been on the border of drunk, so he'd begun to babble. "Ya know, I'm actually from Malibu. I dunno why the hell I moved out here to the east. I mean, I miss the sun, and the beach. I miss my friends, and my high school, and I really miss my family," he let out sort of laughing.

"You shouldn't be here, kid," the bartender said, finally setting his hands down on the counter. He began to wipe over it with a wet rag. "You're a doctor for cryin' out loud. There ain't a reason you should be out here drinkin' away. And, lemme ask ya this. Why the hell did you move to New York? You lived in Malibu for cryin' out loud," the man repeated, now scratching his eyebrow with an index finger.

Oliver began to pat down his short hair. He'd decided to get a clean cut the day he moved to New York.

"God… I don't know. I guess because New York is a great city. I like how everything's real packed together and close knit. It's great. I love it. I love it all," he smiled, rubbing his eyes. He hadn't been so sure why he'd moved out in the first place. Everything was a little blurry to him now that he couldn't think straight. He'd wanted adventure, and he wanted to travel and spontaneously run into interesting and exciting things, when in the end he became a doctor – something no one expected him to become back in Malibu. Come to think of it, no one but his family did know that he was a doctor. It had been eight years since he'd seen his high school friends – including his two best friends. He'd already almost forgot their names. Who were they…? Millie or Lela, or something.

"Right. It is a great city, but, you can't make the best of it if you're sittin' in a bar all night, pal. Besides, we're closin' up early today, so get your ass offa my stool, and go home," the bartender hooted. The music shut off, and so had the television. The men that'd been playing billiards remained there, finishing up their drinks.

"Alright. Thanks for that," Oliver said, standing, only to find himself completely unbalanced.

"You got a ride home? I'll call in a cab," the man offered kindly, but the younger shook his head with a smile.

"No, thanks. I'll just walk. I'll see you tomorrow," he nodded, putting his coat on, checking the clock.

"Hah, no ya won't," the bartender said. "Have a good night kid."

"Mmm, 'night," he said, opening the door.

The cold rushed in and hit his face, managing to sober him up a little. He stuffed his hands into his pocket and began to walk. Glad his mother had bought him a down jacket the day he left home, he started to walk against the cold wind. The snow on the streets was still a pure white, since it had been snowing when he'd entered the bar.

It had been eleven o'clock, and he didn't have work the next day. Maybe he'd walk around and look for spontaneous adventure in the dead of night, guided only by the streetlights, and the blinking signs New York City had to offer. Surprisingly, there had been many people out, walking the streets. Many were couples, holding hands, probably on their way to a nice warm couch, by fireside, watching a movie until they fell asleep on each other's shoulders.

Then there were the singles who had shopping bags all resting on their arms, walking home to a family who had yet to discover what they'd been given for Christmas.

He continued on, looking up at the tall buildings and billboard signs that towered over him. There was an advertisement for Macy's, and a huge sign with Hannah Montana's face on it – but he was too drunk to register the fact.

Then there were the happy people. They lessened as he walked on, and the slightly comforting feeling of having others around was gone.

And it was then Oliver realized that he was alone – quite literally too.

There was no one in New York City that meant much to him but his new found co-workers – his friends. He was still learning about them, getting emotionally attached to them. He'd become attached to them, no doubt, but he was beginning to miss the old Christmas' back in Malibu, where his best friends always had dinner with him, and they were just there, and there was the great feeling of warmth in the environment. His past few Christmases were spent eating a bowl of macaroni, watching a Christmas movie on TV, or studying. And then there were the little packages he received from his family, and only his family. The only thing he received were phone calls from mom and dad, and the pairs of gloves and stethoscopes that came in wrapped packages addressed to Oliver Oken.

The wind began to dry his eyes as he walked, and he figured that he should just go home. There was nothing more comfortable than a forty-two inch plasma screen TV, a flickering fireplace, a bowl of popcorn, and a pair of camouflage onesies.

He closed his eyes for a moment, but never stopped walking.

Sure, maybe in the big, luxurious condo he'd clawed his way to buying, he'd be safe and comfortable. But he'd never be warm. He'd never truly experience the warmth that could only come from another. It would always be cold and lonely, and there was nothing he could do about the feeling every time it met him in this month of December. He almost cried, and tears did streak down his face, but he was sure it was the wind.

"Sorry!" he heard out of no where. It had just occurred to him that he'd bumped into someone. It took a while to register the sound of falling of shopping bags onto the floor, and the feel of someone else's body colliding against his.

He opened his eyes to meet a woman stooping to the ground, gathering all her belongings.

"Oh, sorry," he said, kneeling to help her. "It's my fault – I was walking with my eyes closed," he laughed.

"Haha, it's okay. You know, I know a person who used to do that," the woman said. She'd been wearing a long, black, wool coat, and a pink and white striped scarf, with a matching hat. Her dark brown hair was illuminated by the shining of the large Christmas tree at Rockefeller Square he'd just come across, and something about her was so familiar, even if he hadn't yet seen her face.

He shook his head, and helped her gather her bags. Standing up, she followed, and he finally got to see her face.

Nothing about it had been familiar at first.

Just her voice.

And then, he met her bright blue eyes, and her pearly white smile, the undeniable beauty radiating from her. It was something that hadn't disappeared over the years, just something that matured.

And even though he was thinking about the words 'over the years' he still had yet to figure out who this beautiful woman before him was.

The light blinked, and her face was illuminated more.

He gave her a smile, and extended a warm hand out to her gloved one.

She opened her mouth to speak.

"Hi, I'm –"

"Miley?!" he all but screamed, almost jumping at the sudden jolt of remembrance. In that one second he turned back from the man he'd become to the fourteen year old boy with long, shaggy hair and a collection of Sports Illustrated (Swimsuit Edition) magazines. His voice went from deep and raspy to a high, squeaky, and adolescent voice, and his eyes sparked with the youth and energy they'd so been lacking for the past eight years.

The woman across from him became wide eyed. At first, she had been a little scared – probably at the fact that he'd screamed some random girl's name from out of no where. Then her face twisted into one of realization, relief, surprise, and excitement.

"Yeah… yeah, I'm Miley," she said, her voice choking back some excitement.

A little disappointed, Oliver frowned that boyish old frown he'd once had. Well, it would've been harder for anyone to have recognized him. He was a tall man, with little stubble, and a deep, soft and raspy voice. Something in his eyes had changed, and you could tell he was now wiser. It might've made it easier for someone to recognize him if he still had his long hair, but that had disappeared, and he had a clean cut.

Still, in a split second, this brunette girl named Miley smiled a knowing smile, and she seemed to remember everything.

"Oliver?! Oliver Oken?" she asked back, her hand now gripping his in an iron shake. The old country girl she'd been years back somewhat showed through, as a giddy smile came to her face.

"Yes! Yeah! Yes… that's me," he said nodding, his man-voice coming back, though the childish excitement was still evident.

"Wow…" she whispered, pulling him into a hug.

His arms surrounded her, and suddenly, he had this feeling. It was a feeling he hadn't had in what seemed like forever.

He felt warm.

"It's been…" she started.

"Too long," he finished, pulling back, to see her smiling, excited face.

They spent a few minutes just staring at each other, holding onto each others arms, still reeling from the excitement.

"Um… why don't you come back to my place? Maybe we can catch up a little, you know?" she said, and her accent was still very much there, something Oliver discovered he missed more than he knew.

"S – sure," he said, and that spontaneous adventure he'd been hoping for had begun that night when he ran into Miley Stewart. Something within him came to life, and he was alive, and his world was no longer dull, but filled with color.

Seeing Miley was like seeing everything he once knew again, and that was just what he needed.

And so, he hooked arms with her, and she led him off to her car.

As Miley drove Oliver off to god only knows where, he could only look ahead at the blinking New York lights, wondering how the hell he got from downing alcohol in a lonely old bar to sitting next to Miley Stewart, in her car, on the way to her place at eleven thirty at night.

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	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: **

Tadaaa! Here's a freakin' long chapter, just for you guys, so I expect some more reviews. Those who don't review and instead put the story on alert… I can see you… O.O… jkjk. Reviews are encouraged though. If you have any ideas, just post them in your review. I may or may not use them.

**Disclaimer:** Nothing belongs to me but the characters that you don't recognize, which I made up – some are BASED on real people though!

_**Too Long **_

_**December 5, 2019**_

From the car ride home, to entering her apartment, everything had seemed like a dream. To him it did, especially because he was tipsy. The next thing he knew, he was out of the warmed leather seat of the BMW, and on her reclining love seat, have asleep. Determined not to doze off, he finally piped up.

"So, I've heard Hannah Montana's still a hit," he said, in a quiet voice. Silence was now his friend, especially due to the fact that he was drunk.

Miley smiled, and took a seat across from him.

"Not as big as she was eight years ago," she said, wringing her hands a little nervously.

"Well, that's a lie. She's still singing, and she's still acting, isn't she?" Oliver asked, sitting up, careful not to fall forward.

"I guess – well, that's why I'm here," she said.

"I see."

His eyes were glossy as she looked into them.

She stood to take a seat next to him. "You're drunk."

He smiled slightly, sitting back into the couch to look at her.

"I know."

A moment's silence took over, as her bright blue eyes searched his brown ones.

"So, I want to know why you fled to New York right after graduation," she said, leaning back to look at him fondly, as he was looking at her.

He sighed, and breathed in right after.

"Well, you know me. I wanted to find adventure," he said, motioning to the rather large window at the other end of her giant condo. It revealed the city lights and tall buildings, much better than his own condo did. "So I went to New York."

She took a moment to search his eyes.

"Did you find what you were looking for?"

A doctorate degree was not what he was looking for, but he found one anyways.

"No."

"So, what are you doing now?" she had to ask. She obviously thought he'd become a washed up drunk with a new haircut.

"Well, you know. I'm a doctor," he said, and Miley might've burst out into laughter had she not remained the polite young woman she'd always been.

"A doctor?" she smiled.

"Yeah! A doctor," he insisted, as he pulled his wallet out from his back pocket. He pulled out his hospital ID, and flashed it to his best friend.

"Oh my gosh, Oliver, that's great!" Miley said, as she looked down at the card.

"Yeah, I guess," he shrugged, as he watched the excitement on her face wash off.

"You're a doctor, Oliver. A doctor," she repeated, evidently surprised.

"I know. I had nothing to do, so, I used ma's and pa's money and studied. Driving around New York in circles was boring me."

"You're a doctor," she whispered again. She probably had to say it over and over to believe it. "So, what was Doctor Oken doing getting drunk?"

He blinked again, his eyelids heavying. He looked over at the cable box, seeing that it was already almost two in the morning.

"I don't know," he replied truthfully. He hadn't known what had let him over to drink… almost weekly too.

"Well, no more excessively drinking for you now that I'm here," she said, and he smiled.

"Okay, mom. No more drinking," he said, and she let out a soft giggle. "Well, I should get going, shouldn't I?" he said, trying to stand, only to find himself collapsing back into the couch.

Miley didn't say anything, as he tried standing again.

"Oliver… it's almost two in the morning," she said finally, standing with ease, as he watched her.

"I know. Gotta get going," he said, now standing. He looked down at her with a slight smile. "It's been great seeing you again, Miley."

"You too," she said, and he moved to walk around her when he tripped over himself, falling onto her. She caught him, and he smiled, embarrassed.

"Sorry…" he whispered, and her arms were still around his waist. She pulled him closer, and Oliver closed his eyes.

"You don't have to go," she said against his chest, and he felt his heart thump uncontrollably.

"It's late…"

"I know."

She pulled back slightly, her arms still around him, but she seemed to be emitting a completely different message. She wanted him to stay because, she didn't want him to get hurt, or in trouble. He was drunk, and careless right now, and it probably wouldn't be safe for him to be out at two in the morning in a city like New York. And he'd received a message much different than that, but got what she meant once she looked into his eyes.

He gulped, and suddenly felt stupid for possibly thinking that a person like Miley would want him to 'stay the night'.

Then again, he was feeling brave.

He was feeling impulsive.

And he was feeling drunk.

His hand first caressed her face, until a light blush appeared on her face.

"Uh… Oliver…" she whispered, almost pulling back completely.

Then he leant down, and he kissed her.

His lips touched hers softly at first, and her eyes remained opened, so surprised at the turn of events. Then, Oliver found himself pulling her close, his lips smothering hers, as she gripped onto the front of his shirt, making sure he didn't back away. They stumbled back on the couch, Miley straddling Oliver's lap. Minutes later, they finally pulled back for breath.

Her eyes were wide, filled with surprise and desire, and his were drowsy, yearning for more.

Still dazed, he tugged the front of her shirt to himself, and pulled her into another fiery kiss, pushing her down on the couch.

He was now on her, his fingers running through her hair, as his lips clumsily wandered her face. A moan came from the back of her throat, as his lips fell on hers again.

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The morning light blinded his eyes, as he blinked them open, taking in the scent of soft lavender.

It took him a while to wake up, and notice that his left arm was wrapped around Miley's waist, her back to him.

'_Oh god…'_ he couldn't help but think. Everything from last night had been a blur. All he remembered was pinning Miley to the couch and making out with her. Everything after… he didn't remember.

Looking down, he noticed they both still fully clothed, making him relieved.

Feeling brave, he backed up against the back of the couch, so that he could see Miley's face.

He pushed back a strand of hair, and kissed her ear.

"Mmm…" Miley mumbled.

"Miley," he whispered softly, knowing that alone wouldn't wake her up. He kissed her cheek, forcing her to scratch at it.

She breathed steadily, and Oliver smirked, adolescent mischief seeping back into his system.

He held her nose closed, until her eyes fluttered open, as she gasped for breath.

He pulled his hand back and smiled and her.

"Morning Oliver," she said in a raspy voice, sleep in her eyes.

"Morning, Miley," he replied.

"Oliver, you finally got a haircut," she said, looking up at his messed up hair.

"Yeah," he laughed.

"What time is it? We're gonna be late for school," she said, rubbing her eyes sleepily.

"Miley, we're not in school anymore," Oliver said, as his brows rose.

"What?"

"Yeah… I met you again last night when I was drunk and wandering the streets, and we went back to your place," he shortly recapped.

Her eyes widened, until she jumped in surprise, unceremoniously rolling off of the couch.

"Oh – uh – Oliver!" Miley said, brushing her hair back, as she was an adorable mess.

"Calm down," he said with a smile. He hadn't been this happy and entertained since the last time he dated.

"What happened?" she asked, blushing already, watching as he sat up with a satisfied smirk.

"I don't kiss and tell," he said suggestively.

She scratched her head, as she slowly remembered what had occurred the previous night.

"Oh," she said, replying her own thoughts.

His eyebrows rose, and she cleared her throat.

"You're probably hungry. I'll start breakfast," she said, nodding, turning, and briskly walking to the kitchen.

"I'll help," Oliver offered.

"No – no, it's fine," she said, as she trembled, pulling plates out of the cupboard.

"Miley," he whispered, touching her shoulder.

She spun around so fast he almost jumped.

"Look… after last night, I know things… are a little awkward," he said slowly. "And, I'm sorry for that. I just… got a little drunk, but, we only – it was just harmless kissing last night, so, don't worry," he said.

Miley nodded, letting out a slight laugh.

"Sorry, it's just… a little weird making out with your best friend – who you hadn't seen in eight years," she said, and he gave her a lopsided smile.

"I know," he said nodding.

They spent fifteen minutes whipping up some breakfast, and ended up reminiscing a little as they ate.

"So, tell me about your love life," Oliver said, not as subtle as he meant to be.

"My _love life_?" Miley's eyebrows rose, and he shrugged, bringing the cup of coffee to his lips.

"Yeah," he shrugged with a smile.

"You are… something else. Knocking into me in the at eleven at night -"

"We didn't get that far," he smirked, and she flushed harder.

"Oh my gosh, shut up!" Miley exclaimed with a blush, throwing a piece of bread at him.

"Alright, now seriously," he said, catching the bread as it slid off of his face.

"Well, not much has been going on lately. I've been on and off with Jake Ryan lately – I'm sure you remember him," she said.

"Yeah," he replied, trying not to sneer.

"And then there were a few weeks with Jesse McCartney, then another few with one of my back up dancers, and then there was the rumor about me and Daniel Radcliffe – which was not true, and then there was this little thing with Zac Efron… and that's pretty much it – as Hannah though. I don't have much time to be Miley anymore, but I did meet as much guys as myself," she shrugged.

"I see," he nodded feeling a little bad for her. He didn't know how it felt to keep a huge secret away from someone you cared about.

"And you?" she asked, drinking down some orange juice.

"Me? Oh, there were a few girls from med school… some from work too," he nodded, failing to mention the only truly steady relationship he'd been in for a while.

"You're hiding something," Miley said immediately.

"Me? No. I hide nothing, as you know," he said with a goofy smile, though what she'd said was true.

"Riiiight," she nodded.

"My co-workers would tell you. In fact – why don't you come with me to the hospital this afternoon? I've got no work – I could give you a short tour," he said.

"Really? So, I'd get to meet these… "girls from work" you speak of?"

He closed his eyes and smiled.

"Yes."

"Excellent. It _is_ afternoon, so let's get moving," she said, standing.

"Great! One thing – you have to drop me off at my place. Need to shower, and change," he said, stuffing the last bite of toast into his mouth.

"Fine," she snorted, as she entered her room. "I'm taking a shower, so don't think about coming in!" she said from her room.

"What makes you think I would?" he asked back.

"Well, I'm just taking into consideration what you did last night!" she replied, as he heard the door close.

He rolled his eyes, though he was more tempted than ever.

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After Miley finished showering and changing, she drove Oliver over to his place to shower and change. They then took Oliver's car to the hospital – since he felt the need to show his ride off to Miley.

As they left the car, he put an arm around her, pulling her close.

"Uh, what are you doing?" she asked, looking up at him.

"I'm showing you off," he said, smiling widely.

"Right," she smiled, not sure about what else to say. They then entered the hospital, filled many people, and people in scrubs. Traveling up three floors, they finally reached Oliver's department. He pulled his arm off of her shoulders as they walked towards the reception desk, which Miley found some relief in.

Many nurses and doctors passed them as they walked, many of the male doctors surveying Miley with interested eyes.

Oliver grasped her hand and entwined their fingers – probably to make a point of some sort. She didn't seem to notice, or mind.

"Hey Dr. Oken," came from some pretty nurses in scrubs, and he ended up flashing smiles at them.

"All of them," Oliver whispered into Miley's ear as they came across a group of nurses, "wanted a piece of Smokin' Oken."

Miley's eyes widened, finding it hard to believe – until they began looking Oliver up and down suggestively, some staring at their linked hands, some looking at Miley with sneers.

A tall, slim, blonde woman in a lab coat passed them.

"Hey, Oakey," she winked at him.

"Yo," he replied with a nod.

"Who's that?" Miley asked, squeezing his hand.

"That's one of 'the girls'," he said, with risen eyebrows.

She frowned slightly at the massive amount of women she'd just discovered he dated.

"Are you jealous?" he asked with a smirk. "'Cause if you are, you're the only girl pretty enough for me to look at around here," he said, as he leant in to whisper into her ear, kissing her cheek fondly.

"Shut up," she said with an elbow at his ribs.

They hadn't even officially been going out, and they'd already been holding hands, showing affection in public, and having late-night make-out sessions.

"Oliver," a loud, but lumpy, cross-between-high-and-low voice called from behind the two as they finally reached the desk.

Oliver closed his eyes and breathed in slowly.

Miley had never seen the owner's voice, so she assumed that it would have belonged to a dorky woman, with large glasses, white-blonde hair, pasty skin, and a white lab coat who happened to be Oliver's co-worker.

But as they turned around, hands still linked, she was fully surprised.

Her eyes met a woman of about half an inch taller than her, with a tasteful, v-neck shirt, and white lab coat on. She wore no glasses, which revealed her confusing bright eyes, which were a cross between grey, green, and blue. She had a bright, white smile, her teeth completely straight and in place. Her hair was long, and a dark shade of brown (the same color as Miley's) her hair neatly parted to the side, with skin just as creamy as Miley's. She had a pointed nose, not longer than Miley's, just pointed, and slightly thinner, glossy, lips. They had the same chin, only hers seemed longer, since she had a longer face.

In other words, this girl that had called Oliver's name bore an uncanny resemblance to Miley.

"Yes, Dr. Williams?" Oliver asked, looking at the pretty woman.

"Hey, you're not on call or anything today," she said, taking a chance to look at Miley.

"Actually, I'm giving my friend-girl – ah – my, my girlfriend, a tour of the hospital," he said, stuttering stupidly, almost as he had years back when he'd been talking to Becca Weller. "Miley Stewart, this is Dr. Emily Williams. Emily, Miley."

'_Not awkward at all…'_ he mentally muttered.

"Nice to meet you," Emily smiled, reaching out a hand to shake Miley's.

"Likewise," she said, mustering up the most genuine smile she could. She was too busy trying to absorb how Emily's voice could possibly match her body that she didn't notice that Oliver referred to her as his girlfriend.

"So, Emily, ah, I guess I'll be seeing you around – tomorrow. I've got work tomorrow," Oliver smiled, and by the look in her eyes, she got the message.

"Right. Tomorrow. Nice meeting you, Miley," Emily smiled politely, turning away with a nod at Oliver.

"Well, she was nice," Miley turned to Oliver, who looked slightly flustered.

"Yup, I know," he shrugged, as they walked over to the counter. "Let me show you my pals, slash co-workers,"

Miley's eyebrows rose at his rush to shy away from the subject of Emily Williams.

"That's Jane, and Mary," he said, whispering, as he jutted his chin towards a large African American woman, and a stick thin pasty white woman. "They look busy, and when I try to talk to them when they're busy, bad things happen. So, let's move on."

He led her away from the desk down a long hallway to where many men in scrubs were rushing back and forth.

"O-dog!" an attractive man with dirty blonde, short-cut hair, and a clean-cut beard said, as he gave Oliver's free hand a high five. "What's up, man? I didn't know you were back on with Williams."

Oliver gave him a deathly look, but he didn't seem to notice.

"Hey, Em… did you get shorter… and make your face smaller… and make your eye color change…?" he asked, crossing his arms as he looked Miley up and down.

Oliver looked down, and then shut his eyes.

"Oh… you're not… Emily," the man said.

"No, I'm not – I'm Miley, Miley Stewart," Miley said with a slight laugh, roughly squeezing Oliver's hand. He never pulled away.

"Yup, Miley this is James Wheeler," Oliver said, a death glare towards the man proceeded with.

He smiled, looking Miley up again. "Oh… sorry about that. It's – you guys just –"

"Don't you have someone to operate on, or something?" Oliver asked, his eyes narrowing.

"Yes – I'm gonna go do that now," he said, running away.

"Met him in med school, and he's supposed to be my best friend here," Oliver said, squeezing Miley's hand.

"He seemed…" Miley nodded, trying to find a word.

"You don't need to say anything," Oliver smiled. "Anyways, let's move on."

"Hey – since when was I your girlfriend?" she asked, loosening her grip on his hand.

"When I forgot we weren't dating," he said with a shrug, only now fully realizing that they'd been holding hands for more than he'd intended.

They finally pulled away, a little flushed.

"Oliver… I think its best that we… just stay friends – for now, okay? I mean… we just met up again, and I think it'd be the best thing to do," Miley said, having difficulty in getting out the words she'd played over in her head.

"Yeah – uh, yeah, okay. That's okay with me, that's fine," he said, looking everywhere but at her eyes. "Fine, that's okay. So, I guess we're pals, right? Just pals," he said, repeating over and over again until Miley looked at him sympathetically. He looked like a lost little boy, and she wanted nothing more than to hug him.

"Yes… like old times," she said, grabbing his hand, squeezing it reassuringly, with a smile.

Oliver felt slight relief when she said what she said, but he couldn't help but feel disappointed.

"Okay. Great. That means we can get out of here, right?" he asked, holding an arm out for her.

She smiled, and hooked hers around his.

"Yeah, and we can do some Christmas shopping," Miley suggested, and Oliver groaned as he led her away.

"Psh, yeah._ Exactly_ like old times," he muttered loud enough for her to hear as they reached the elevator, and she playfully nudged at his side, while a woman with bright grey eyes watched from the reception desk.

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End file.
